Get Off My Lawn
by glassamilk
Summary: It's Denmark's birthday and Norway, once again, finds him asleep on the couch and proceeds to tease him mercilessly.


It's been years since Denmark has had the ability to stay up past midnight.

In his youth, he had been as spry as they came; exploring, conquering, and celebrating with as much vigor and exuberance as he could justify for any occasion, so long as it meant having fun until the sun came up, especially when friends were involved. He could drink until dawn and still be as energetic as ever when it came time to tie the sails and set out once again.

But with his ungraceful transition into the modern world, he had been steadily loosing that boundless energy as the years followed him into new generations, ticking his bedtime back earlier and earlier until he eventually found himself at the dawn of a new millennium, relying on an entire pot of coffee to keep him upright until the new year.

During the day, the energy is of course still there. Denmark has no trouble bouncing from meeting to meeting for business and then from dinner to bar with friends, just as jovial and enthusiastic as ever, but with sunset comes a tight cap, and Norway often finds him dozing on the couch at the end of an average day until the other man nudges him and demands that he drag himself to his proper bed.

But for every night he finds him listlessly resting his eyes, there is one day a year where Norway consistently finds him in a dead sleep before even ten PM.

His birthday.

Strangely out of character, Denmark has never been one for grand parties for his constitution day. Perhaps because it's not _really_ his birthday or because he never truly had to win that constitution from anyone, but the celebrations are nowhere near as opulent and magnificent as they are for the rest of them. Norway has managed to build himself a bit of a reputation for his superb commemorations, and even Sweden, for all his stoicism, has a bigger party every year. Denmark, however, simply closes down his shops and sends everyone home for the day to spend time with their families, since he has additionally chosen to share his national holiday with father's day.

Each year, they have a private gathering at Denmark's house with the five of them and the Dane's numerous "children", all seventy-six of them crowding into his backyard for what is, generally, a large pot-luck, unless the June weather does not permit, in which case they stuff into his house and take turns going in and out of the kitchen to retrieve their dinners. Sweden always brings several tastefully decorated cakes, enough for them all, and Finland always insists bringing balloons or a festive tablecloth at the very least. Iceland always stays the night after the party to help Norway clean up, which stacked on top of every one else bringing the food and alcohol, generally leaves Denmark with nothing to do but sit back and enjoy the humble festivities.

But for some reason, it always exhausts him. And every year, without fail, Norway will find him flopped over on the couch after everyone has left, generally on a pile of discarded wrapping paper and cards.

This year is no different.

After seeing Lolland and Sjælland, always the last to leave, to the door and bidding them goodnight, Norway returns to the living room to the same spectacle he finds every fifth of June. Denmark is sitting on the couch, cheek in hand, just barely tipped over enough to catch on the armrest to keep from falling over completely, his hair full of Finland's confetti and his reading glasses askew on his nose, teetering dangerously close to dropping into his lap which still holds a plate of partially consumed raspberry cake. If he didn't know better by now, Norway might assume that he was just dozing, but it's become such a constant ritual that Norway simply sighs and sets to clearing a path through the mess of gifts on the living room floor.

It never fails to amuse him how he finds father's day cards attached to birthday gifts and as he folds up note after note from each of Denmark's islands, he wonders if the Dane put the dates together on purpose.

From upstairs, he can hear the faint hum of the vacuum cleaner turning on followed a moment later by it coughing to death when it sucks up something inevitably drug in by someone's shoes, Iceland cursing loudly at the infernal machine. Norway shakes his head and stands up to pile the various boxes and cards by the fireplace. It's rare that there is ever an unmanageable mess, but the sea of wrapping tissue is still rather overwhelming, and after a half hour of tidying, Norway finally allows himself a break and seats himself on the chair across of Denmark with another slice of cake.

As he quietly nibbles away at it, he watches Denmark curiously. To say that Denmark has mellowed out in his old age would be like saying the North Pole is cold, but it's only been recently that he has truly been beginning to show it. Not just in his mannerisms and attitude, but physically as well; a gray hair here, a creaky bone there. He's still as fit as ever from riding his bicycle everywhere, but even from his spot across from him, Norway can see the fine lines in the Dane's face, right in the spot where his eyes crinkle when he smiles. It's not a bad thing. If anything, Denmark has aged, remarkably, quite well, and Norway is more than attracted to the pleasant maturity gracing the other man's features.

They do occasionally get odd looks when they go out together, especially so at the first hint of any public affection. Norway is well aware that in comparison, he still looks very, very young, barely out of his teens despite his own many years, and there has been more than one instance wherein someone remarked that it was so endearing to see a boy of his age still holding his father's hand. Though Denmark always sputters indignantly at the first hint of being told he looks middle-aged, it doesn't really bother either of them. If anything, it's always good for a laugh.

And besides, it's not like it's never happened to Sweden and Finland either.

Norway polishes off his cake and gets to his feet. He steps in front of the couch and gingerly takes Denmark's plate out of his lap before it can fall on the floor, pausing to continuing peering at him up close. Mature or not, he still sleeps the same way; breathing noisily with his mouth wide open.

Norway stacks their plates and sets them on the coffee table before sitting down next to him, flopping over to rest his head in Denmark's lap and staring up at his sleeping face, reaching to pluck his glasses off of the bridge of his nose, pulling them down to his own face and immediately regretting it when he nearly goes cross-eyed trying to focus. He pushes them up to rest on his forehead and sighs, content to just lay on the couch and listen to Denmark sleep for the time being.

Though he would never admit it, there are times where Norway does miss his boundless energy. Not the kind that made him take an axe to anything chop-able, but the kind that egged him on to take the boat out in the middle of the night just to show Norway something pretty and inane or that kept his wheels spinning long enough to make long plane rides entertaining. For as much as he complains about it, Norway finds Denmark's incessant babbling and constant fidgeting rather charming, and it does disappoint him that it comes less frequently in favor of falling asleep on the couch.

Not that it isn't comfortable. Just different.

Different like never having a big party.

Norway sighs again and sits up, patting Denmark's leg. "Hey," he says quietly, shaking him gently. "Come on, old man, you're sleeping on the couch again."

Denmark groans and blinks his eyes open, fixing a bleary gaze on Norway. "Am I?" He rights himself into sitting properly and rubs his fingers against his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Just after nine."

"Already?" Denmark yawns and rakes a hand through his hair, a small cascade of rainbow, paper dots showering over his shoulders. "Did everyone already leave?"

"Yes. Sjælland took Lolland back to the hotel a little while ago." He pulls Denmark's glasses off of his head and hands them to him. "You're going blind, by the way."

Denmark chuckles lowly and folds the glasses into his shirt pocket. "I know. How was Lolland when he left? Drunk?"

"Completely. He wouldn't stop cracking 'your mom' jokes to Greenland."

Denmark laughs again and leans back against the couch, sinking down a bit. "Ooh, those kids." He rubs his eyes again. "They're a handful, aren't they?"

Norway nods and leans in to kiss his cheek. "Just like their father."

"Oh, come on," he pouts. "I was never that bad, was I?"

"I would have taken a hundred years of 'your mom' jokes over an axe in my ottoman every month," he says flatly. "It's a miracle none of them are as crazy as you were."

"Oh, I dunno, Bornholm has his moments. And don't even try to deny that Faroes is a little hellfire." He turns to look at Norway seriously. "Did you know she brought me a damn dolphin skull as a gift last year?"

Norway smirks and shakes his head. "Speaking of gifts…" he leans over the edge of the couch and pulls a small box out of the drawer of the lamp table. "You still have one more."

Denmark grins and takes it from him. "You always wait until everyone leaves before you give me your gift," he says, edging the plain wrapping up with his thumb. "Why is that?"

Norway shrugs. "I don't like sharing your attention."

"D'aaw, Norge, that's sweet." He pulls the paper off and turns over the box, flipping it open and grinning. "Heeey, a new bike lock!" He wiggles it out of its case and inspects it, turning it over in his hand. "Leave it to you to get me something I can actually use."

"It's not a dolphin head, but," Norway shrugs again. "I figured it would do. It was either that or a hair piece."

Denmark scowls at him. "I am _not_ going bald," he growls, his best attempt of being menacing instantly thwarted by another loud yawn.

"Mm, if you say so," Norway teases him. He swings his legs over the couch and back to the floor and nudges Denmark's shoulder. "In any case, you look like you're about to collapse, so we may as well put you to bed."

Denmark tips over and rests his head on Norway's shoulder. "But I'm not tired," he whines.

Norway affectionately ruffles his hair. "Yes you are. And we need to wake up early again tomorrow for Sweden's party."

Denmark groans. "I know, I know." He sighs dramatically and sits up, stretching as he gets to his feet, his back cracking loudly. "Oh, God, yes, I've been waiting for that all night," he breathes.

Norway smirks and stands as well. "You want some help up the stairs? I'd hate for you to strain yourself and break your hip."

"You kids these days, I swear." He huffs. "No respect."

Norway rolls his eyes. "That's a laugh coming from you." He grabs Denmark's hand as he starts for the stairs and pulls him back. "Hey," he tugs him down by the front of his shirt and kisses him softly, ignoring the bits of confetti that flutter down with the sudden movement. "Happy birthday. You've somehow managed to make it another year without accidentally offing yourself."

Denmark smirks and returns the chaste gesture, settling a hand on Norway's lower back. "You can never just say something nice without something sarcastic, can you?" He asks, laughing.

Norway shrugs starts to pull him in the direction of the stairs again. "Could be worse," he says, grinning. "I could have made a joke about your stamina."

Denmark scowls, pausing before lunging forward and grabbing Norway around his waist. "Alright, that does it," he says, easily hauling Norway kicking and squirming over his shoulder and stomping up the stairs to the bedroom.

"We're staying up _all_ night now."

-END-

Happy birthday/father's day, Denmark!

Notes:

No big parties: In Denmark, constitution day is a much quieter affair than it is in its neighboring countries. Sure, all of the flags go up and everyone is generally in a good mood, but the celebrations are usually limited to just inspiring speeches. There's never really any big parades or anything, but all of the shops close down at noon so everyone gets to go home early. In general, it's a rather boring event. Norway does it much better.

Pretty out of character, eh?

Middle-age: The actual country of Denmark is freaking old. Going by constitution establishment, Denmark is one of the oldest countries in the world. Sorry, bishie fans, I just can't imagine him as a shiny, fresh-faced twenty-something.

Denmark's "kids": I was referencing the (inhabited) islands that make up Denmark, including Greenland and Faroes just for good measure. They're not necessarily his children, but I kinda see it in the same way a lot of America fans see the states as Alfred's kids. Plus, the thought of having that many people in a house makes me laugh for some reason. I don't even know, I've been up all night. OTL

Father's day: June fifth is also father's day in Denmark. Which is why it's great that everything closes down around noon. More family time!

Anyways! I'm gonna go raid Pixiv for all of the new delicious fanart that is coming out today! Thank you for reading!

Tillykke med fødselsdagen!


End file.
